Once upon a midnight dreary, the stars spoke in a tongue lost to time. Beneath the boughs of an ancient willow, a soul was tangled in threads of yesteryears. The willow whispered: "Remember the dreams that were never yours?"
Thus, the soul pondered not only their own dreams but also those of others. Each wish and hope entwined with its own, forming a tapestry too complex to unravel. Somewhere in the echo was the understanding that dreams deferred cast long shadows across time itself.
In a forgotten marketplace, where whispers were merchandise, a vendor offered silence as a prized possession. "It's rare," they claimed, "for it is the absence of all noise." But the wisest buyer knew its worth lay not in emptiness, but in tranquility.
Peace wrapped around the mind like a comforting embrace, revealing truths hidden beneath habitual clamor. The real richness lay in recognizing where silence spoke volumes.